I stepped back and helped Mrs. Appleton to the casket. Then I waited for what felt like an eternity. I peeked at the trees once again, and the figure was still there. We were being watched; that was what gave me that uneasy feeling clawing all over my skin. I crossed my arms in front of me in an effort to fight the invasion. At last, Beatrix Appleton let her cluster of white blooms drop.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the priest recited with a numbed expression, then he tossed a handful of dirt into the grave and over our flowers. Of course, with all the humidity lingering over Ashwell, his hand ended up covered in mud, which he discreetly tried to clean on his cassock.
With that less than dignifying gesture, this entire ordeal was over. The priest approached Mrs. Appleton to give her his condolences and some words of wisdom before he helped her to the stone path where her wheelchair would be easier to maneuver. The lawn where we had been standing was as damp as the dirt the priest had tossed. I was trying to unstick my heels from the mud so I could reach the stone pathway myself when my mother grabbed me by the arm.
“I just wanted to say congratulations on your nomination. I am glad you found your way.” She stood in front of me, unable to meet my gaze.
“Thank you, June.”
She unpinned a small flower bouquet from her lapel. It matched the flowers from the other arrangement. June placed it on the palm of my hand.
“You should wear a white gown. It’s the color that suits you best,” she recommended, this time meeting my eyes, but only for a fleeting second.
June immediately moved away to join the conversation the priest and Mrs. Appleton were having. I was dumbfounded by her approach. I had not expected that.
“One more thing, I guess, adding to the pile of weirdness growing around me this morning,” I said out loud, once June was at a safe distance.
However, I had failed to realize that I was not completely alone.
“Coming back to your hometown for a funeral isn’t exactly the best way to reconnect with your past, is it?”
Her question startled me, almost making me jump out of my skin. A skin that felt way too thin that morning. I was still focused on the white flowers in my hand and had not seen her approaching me.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” the policewoman apologized when she saw my reaction.
“No, it’s okay. But yes, that’s a pretty accurate observation, Officer…” I squinted to read her nametag. “Brookmeyer. Wait, Brookmeyer?”
That sounded familiar. I looked up for the first time and actually paid attention to her face, which was something I hadn’t attempted to do before. In addition to her impeccable uniform, the policewoman had a neat appearance. Her curly black hair was pulled tightly in a bun, and her face did not have a drop of makeup on it. A wide smile she was trying to hide, presumably due to the circumstances, and warm chocolate eyes, created a trustworthy halo around her.
“Josephine Brookmeyer? Jo?”
For the first time since I had returned to Ashwell, an honest smile formed on my face. Jo, Claire, and I had been schoolmates in high school. Although Jo and I were never as close as Claire and I had been, we formed a group of five friends along with two other girls―Liz and Michaela.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you in your uniform.”
“Yeah, my boss gave me a break in the middle of my shift so I could bring Mrs. Appleton and attend the service. Since I’m the one…” Jo started on a thought trail but apparently decided to get off before completing it. “Never mind. I guess we’re all dressed up now, aren’t we? To pretend you are an adult, you need the right costume.”
“Yes, that seems about right.” I looked down at my completely black outfit.
Jo’s observation was on point. I think, although disguised in different outfits, we both felt the same―that we were kids playing dress-up to create the illusion of leading a life of meaning. In a way, perhaps in more than one, I still felt like a child. Death seemed to have that effect on me, making me feel as helpless and as mystified as a six-year-old.
Jo leaned closer and whispered, “Congratulations, by the way. I know it’s not the right place. But I don’t think Claire would be offended if I let you know that we are, here in Ashwell, very proud of your accomplishments.”
I smiled and nodded, thanking her for her kind words. I looked away, trying to swallow the ball of sorrow that felt like thorns forming in my throat. I directed my gaze back to the trees, not with much consideration. The figure was still there, hiding behind a mix of fog and shadows.
“I’ll be there in a second, Mrs. Appleton!” Jo made a hand signal towards the group down the stone pathway. Although the figure intrigued me, I tried to focus back on Jo. I didn’t wish to be rude.
“Listen, how long are you going to be in town?” Jo asked.
“My plane leaves tomorrow morning. I need to get back to work.”
“Well, then, tonight we are gathering at The Troll’s Den.” Jo started to walk away from the grave, and I followed her.
“That place still exist?”
“Yes, it still does.” Jo smiled. “We’re getting together to have a beer and maybe share some stories about Claire. I don’t know, just as a way to pay our respects. You should come.”
“Sure.” I quickly jumped on the idea. I needed someone to talk to about Claire and all the weirdness surrounding her death. “But I don’t have a car.”
“No problem. I’ll pick you up at eight,” Jo offered while she hastened her step to approach Mrs. Appleton. “See you tonight!”
Chapter 7
After the service was over, I decided to walk back to Appleton Hill. My mind was clearer than when I’d first arrived at the cemetery, but riding back to the hill with Mrs. Appleton in Jo’s cruiser was a little too dramatic for my taste. I wasn’t sure I could take any more drama. Besides, I needed all the fresh air I could get, even if it meant walking alone. I could also catch a ride with my mother.
Yeah, that’s a non-option, if anything.
Even though the day was now closer to noon, the sun’s lukewarm presence did nothing to clear the way. The mist grew thicker, denser, the closer I found myself to Appleton Hill.
I had also discovered that I was able to get mobile reception away from the hill. My phone, dead since the previous morning, had suddenly burst into life with a million text messages and lost calls from my production team. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and use the walk to catch up with work and assure them I’d be back the next day.
I was glad to find out that no serious development had happened in the twenty-four hours I’d been away. This new project was larger than the previous one―the film that had put us on the map―and that made everyone nervous.
“You are drowning among mountain number one, mountain number two and mountain number three! You’re lost in the middle of nowhere!” Lena, my overly dramatic producer cried over the phone. “I was freaking out thinking you’d shacked up with a mountain man and decided to do a documentary on Bigfoot. Or that you were buried under a snow avalanche!”
I tried to soothe her. “There are no mountains here, Lena. One hill, that’s it. And there is no snow either, so avalanches are not an option.”
“You have no cell phone reception, which is the modern equivalent to dropping dead!” she carried on, creating a dramatic situation out of nothing.
Just the type of drama I was trying to avoid, I thought as the cascade of nasty―and highly improbable―dangers kept pouring from Lena’s mouth and into my ear.
It was, in all fairness, her ability to worry about everything that might happen that made Lena a fantastic producer. This time we had a larger budget, so the pressure to execute to perfection and create a better film than the first one was higher. More money meant more responsibilities. And more problems.
“Don’t worry, Lena. I’ll be back tomorrow. But you won’t be able to get ahold of me until tomorrow morning when I’m at the airport, okay?”
“Yeah
, I’ll try to put my panic attacks on hold until you get here. Oh, I don’t know if I said it before, but I am sorry for your loss.”
I was about to thank her when the line started to break up. I could hear bits and pieces of Lena’s voice, but nothing of what she said made sense.
“He-help… me…” Lena’s voice sounded more and more distorted.
The interference became louder, and the white noise overpowered most of her words. I realized I was getting closer to Appleton Hill, almost to the place where Tom had dropped me the day before, by the steps leading up the hill.
“Lena? Lena, I am entering the no-signal zone. I can barely hear you. Can you hear me?”
The static increased, forcing me to move the phone away from me. I waited a few seconds until the turbulent noise subsided, then placed the phone against my ear again.
“Lena? Can you hear me? Don’t worry about the costume designer. I’ll talk to Debra when I―”
“Dummy?”
Her crystalline voice grew above all the static and white noise screaming its way out of my phone. I froze on the spot. Was I dreaming again? But… the physicality of her voice was undeniable. I could almost touch it. I tried to convince myself I was imagining things, that the stress of the funeral was messing with my mind.
I had to say something. Anything.
My vocal cords were dead. Her voice had cut them with one sharp question.
“Althea? Don’t―my mother…”
I was in front of the first step that started the climb up to the manor. Yet, it all felt miles away. A choking sensation got ahold of my neck. And the only way to clear my airways was to ask the dreaded question.
“Claire?”
My hands simultaneously began shaking and sweating the moment her name emerged from my lips. Cold shivers and hot flashes were fighting to take over my body. Life and death were merging over a nonexistent conversation.
This cannot be happening. This. Is. Not. Real. I tried to convince myself. Somehow, the static changed Lena’s voice to make it sound like Claire’s.
But this reasoning was not enough to deter me from pursuing this insane rabbit down the dark pit the phone line had become.
“Claire? Is that you?”
A drop of sweat ran down my back, burning its way along my spine, using each vertebra as an iced step.
“Wake up, dummy―own it… Mother… get… out…”
The hair at the back of my head was electrified while beads of sweat formed on my forehead.
“Claire? Claire, what do I have to own? Do I have to get your mother out? Out from where?”
All I received in response was an increment in static to the point where it was impossible to hear anything else. After that, complete silence followed. The line died. Along with all the voices on it.
The street seemed equally lifeless. Not a single car or person passed by. I was more alone than ever before. The only palpable thing was the feeling of insanity taking over me. My knees caved in under the pressure of all my fears and I collapsed on the first step. Numbed, I kept staring at the phone for an explanation. For an answer. For more of Claire.
Chapter 8
The climb up to the house was even harder this second time. Sometimes I had to sit on the steps and take a break to catch my breath. My legs had turned into jelly, and they refused to carry me all the way to the house. What sort of delirium had overtaken me? I didn’t have an answer. I could hardly believe I was trying to find an excuse to explain speaking with my dead friend.
This is ridiculous, Althea. You did not speak to Claire, I scolded myself.
I knew from the moment I received Beatrix’s phone call that the pain of losing Claire, the suffering of not being able to set things straight before she decided to take her own life, was one I would carry with me for the rest of my life. I was ready for that. What I had not anticipated was the grief making me lose my mind. Her voice was so clear. It was Claire’s voice. This could not be how crazy felt like.
Out of nowhere, a gust of wind engulfed me, messing up my hair and forcing me to stop because I couldn’t see the next steps in front of me. Wind and fog were a rather unusual combination, close to impossible. Yet, there they were, creating a circular wall around me. A wall that quickly began to feel like a straitjacket.
I could not hear anything but the wind wailing in my head. What started as a low rumble, like a deep voice coming from the earth, was growing in volume and expressing itself in a higher pitch. My eyes didn’t seem to be of much help; I could barely keep them open. Contrary to what I expected, the wind did not stop. It began to expand. I was witnessing a sort of ripple effect or expansion wave, but in the wind.
I realized I had to get into the house as the weather was only getting worse. I tried to take a step forward, but I ended up tripping over myself and landing on my hands. My feet got caught in a twirl of vines. I cursed Tom’s lousy gardening ability. However, this new body position gave me some leverage, and I was able to hold on to the stone step in front of me while I jerked my feet away from the plants’ grip.
Still on my hands, I continued the ascent. It was easier to keep my balance if I was closer to the ground. As I crawled up to the house, I had the clear sensation I was in the eye of a tornado. The wind’s screams were unbearable, creating a sense of dread that was slowly overpowering me.
Still bent over, I stumbled my way to the front door. The shrieks of the wind had risen to the highest pitch yet. I could barely think straight.
“Stop it! STOP IT NOW!” I yelled at the blinding whiteness, covering my ears with my hands.
Although my pleading garnered no results, somehow, screaming back at the wind allowed me to regain focus. I reached the doorknob, relieved to be able to hold on to something steady, only to find that an ivy branch had latched on to it.
What was this? It wasn’t there when I had left for the funeral. How could it grow so fast? It had wrapped itself several times around the doorknob, preventing me from opening the door. I couldn’t afford to go around the house in this weather, trying to find a different entrance. There was only one way to fix this. I grabbed the climbing plant with both hands and pulled.
The wind blew harder and the white screams tried to numb me to unconsciousness.
I pulled once again, feeling the abrasion of the vine hurting my hands.
I pulled a third time, now using my entire body weight. And it worked. The branch broke loose, causing me to stumble back, almost falling to the ground.
Absolute dead quiet surrounded me. No more wind. No more wild nature screaming inside my head. Somehow, by yanking away the climbing plant, I had unplugged nature’s ventilator.
After a few seconds of complete stillness, including my own, I heard the delicate sounds of rough leaves being dragged over the flagstone path surrounding Appleton Manor. As if what I had witnessed was not enough, the climbing plant I had amputated was now retreating, crawling back into the wild gardens. Was there someone pulling it away?
I sprang to my feet, gathering strength from I don’t know where, and leaped through the house’s entrance. When I closed the door behind me, I had to lean against it. I was exhausted and incapable of explaining what had just happened.
The phone call? Maybe I’d imagined that, but the wind? The fog? That ridiculous battle with the vine? I tried to put the pieces together in my head while I steadied my breath.
“Althea? Are you all right?” Beatrix emerged from the living room with a concerned look on her face.
I probably looked like a tornado had spat me inside the house. Unfortunately, that wasn’t so far away from the truth.
“Was it the climb?” Beatrix threw me bait, and I gladly took it. I nodded as a full response. “I know, this hill can be a killer if you’re not used to it.”
I made one last effort to not look so disheveled and terrified as I felt. I removed my wobbly body from the door and combed my hair using my fingers.
“Listen,” said Beatrix. “I need to ask you a bi
g favor. As you may have noticed, someone was missing from Claire’s service.” My mind was blank, still reeling from fighting an opponent that was impossible to hit. I couldn’t figure out who she was talking about. “My sister Rose, Claire’s only aunt, is coming over to help me out with this… transition.”
“Oh, yes. She should have been here by now,” I added to make up for the fact that I had completely forgotten about her. Immediately after those words came out of my mouth, my stomach hardened into a rock.
“Well, here’s the thing. She is trapped in New York due to a snowstorm, and there are no flights available. Hers was canceled. I was wondering if you could stay with me for a few days until she’s able to get here. I don’t wish to impose on you, my dear child. I really don’t want to be here alone and, unfortunately, Marguerite can’t come back to help me. I have no one else to ask.”
She caught me completely off guard. I was not expecting to spend more than two days in Ashwell. After the struggle I had gone through just to get from the cemetery to the house, extending my stay was the last thing on my mind.
“Marguerite? Oh, your nurse. Yeah, I remember now.”
I tried to gather my thoughts around Beatrix’s proposition. The rough truth was that there was only one answer I could give. Now that Claire was gone, Beatrix Appleton was truly alone in Ashwell. I owed that woman so much that I couldn’t refuse. She had opened the doors of her house to me without ever asking why I never wanted to return to my own home. Beatrix Appleton had saved me from being a runaway child.
The Haunting of Appleton Hill Page 5